


Storm and Substance

by onlyastoryteller



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Fighting, Guys they aren't nice to each other in this, Jealousy, M/M, Nightclub, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 15:43:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19397242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyastoryteller/pseuds/onlyastoryteller
Summary: Timmy is pissed because Armie fucked up. They go dancing to blow off steam, and the storm gets worse before it gets better.





	Storm and Substance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DontSqueezeTheCharmie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontSqueezeTheCharmie/gifts).



> Once upon a million years ago I asked for little location/mood prompts and CMBYNObsessed sent me "lusty nightclub." I was intrigued by this, but it took me a while to put this together because it's a bit...different.
> 
> Warning: This is experimental and it might be a total and complete failure. It's also outside of my comfort zone, so it might be a failure in that sense too.
> 
> This is a fic that is meant to be read while listening to a song. There are timestamps within that match up with the timing of the song, and I tried to write it for an average reading speed based on informal research (i.e. I asked a bunch of people to time themselves while reading fic). 
> 
> If you want to try out the multimedia experience, turn on the song and start reading. Pay attention to those timestamps by checking in with them when you see them.
> 
> If you don't care about that go ahead and just read ;)
> 
> The song is Ravel's Bolero, and you can find the one I used for timing on spotify here: [Ravel's Bolero](https://open.spotify.com/track/3KtsRijwp8KunCRYlOdWEi)
> 
> Thanks for taking this journey with me!

**_(00:00)_ **

Outside the club, the night was wet, but it had finally stopped raining. The earlier storms had left the pavement slick and shiny, and people carried dripping umbrellas at their sides as they hopped around the largest puddles in the sidewalk. Cars splashed along the streets, and shop awnings released fat, icy droplets onto the heads of passers by. 

In the distance, thunder continued to rumble occasionally, a reminder that — perhaps — the storm had not quite moved on.

The dark-haired one entered first, in a cloud of crackling frustration and resentment. 

It seemed to emanate from him in time with the bass reverberating from the inside of the club, only slightly muffled by the heavy wooden doors that separated the entrance hall from the club itself. 

With a flick of a dainty wrist, he handed over his cover charge. The cashier started to ask for I.D., and he fastened her with a set of pink, sneering lips and glittering eyes that said _don’t fuck with me tonight_. She got the message, stamped his hand, and waived him through. 

He nodded once, a single, jerky motion, and then shoved open the doors, long lean arms holding them wider than necessary for passage of his thin frame. He plowed into the heart of the beat, into the darkness interrupted by flickering strobes, without a second’s hesitation, without a look behind him. As if he were on a mission and had no time for indecision.

The cashier didn’t give much thought to not having gotten I.D. He was probably old enough, and with those cheekbones, definitely beautiful enough to do whatever he wanted, anyway. She watched him disappear into the crowd, eyeing his narrow, leather-clad hips and ass. She looked long enough that the next person in line cleared his throat loudly to get her attention. 

She turned back and refocused on her job. “Sorry—“ she began, and then forgot what she was saying as she looked up...and up...and up. Into a pair of piercing blue eyes, golden hair, chiseled jaw with just enough stubble to be sexy and probably feel like heaven on the inside of your—

He slapped his cover charge on the counter. She jumped. He raised one eyebrow. She slid the cash off the counter and cleared her throat.

“Sorry,” she tried again. “I was — he was — it — “

He let out a sigh, his chest deflating, and held out his hand for the stamp. She fumbled for it, pressed it onto tanned skin. 

“Yes, I know,” he said, his voice a complex combination of defeated and proud. “He has that effect on people.”

Then he was gone as well, even his large stature disappearing completely into the swirling mass of bodies. 

**_(01:40)_ **

The bartender noticed him right away, his eye drawn to a head of slicked-back hair that fell even with his jaw, a pair of large, deep-set eyes, and full lips pulled into a sonnet on dissatisfaction. He approached like a cat, slinking and twisting around people and obstacles in his way. 

When he reached the bar, the bartender jerked his chin up, the universal signal of _what’ll you have,_ used when the music was too loud to shout the question over and over all night long. 

He stepped on the foot rail, pushing himself up high enough to lean far over the bar top. One ivory hand shot out and beckoned, and the bartender leaned to meet him. Then lips were in his ear. 

“Jack and Coke.” The kid over-pronounced his consonants, the hard sounds cracking in the bartender’s ear. 

A hand settled on his collarbone, stroked outward and down his shoulder. He shivered, and then again when he felt the breath in his ear once more.

“My name’s Timmy.”

Timmy dropped back to the ground, eyes hooded, the right side of his mouth curled up.

The bartender swallowed once, then nodded. His cock twitched. Maybe he was getting lucky tonight. 

But then Timmy looked over his shoulder, a sly smile spreading across his face and a challenge sparking in his eyes. The bartender followed his gaze.

_Oh. Taken, then._

A few feet away, at the end of the bar, tall enough to look over the heads of the patrons crowding its length, was a monster of a man. _Yes_ , the bartender thought. _Monster_ was the right word. Or maybe _beast_. Definitely _wild._

It wasn’t so much the man’s sheer size, his broad shoulders, or his muscled arms. It was more that the way he stood communicated _restrained power_. His hands were in the pockets of his black pants, but his shoulders, clearly visible in the snug button-down he was wearing, were tense. He was poised as if ready to launch an attack if provoked.

Also...the look on his face was...predatory.

Timmy turned back to the bartender, leaned in again, and kissed his cheek, licking the spot his lips had touched, like the cat he had first appeared to be.

“Go on, be a good boy and get me my drink,” Timmy murmured, his lips skating across the bartender’s ear.

The bartender nodded. He fumbled with every bottle and glass on the bar before sliding the drink towards Timmy.

Before it even occurred to him to ask for payment, Timmy chucked him under the chin.

“Armie will get the tab,” Timmy said, and then he was gone.

In his place was the Beast. He tossed a credit card onto the bar and then walked away without a word or backward glance.

**(03:14)**

The DJ spotted Timmy as he skirted the outside of the crowded dance floor, Jack and Coke in hand. There was something about the way he was moving that caught the DJ’s eye. He looked casual at first glance, but a more thorough inspection revealed that he was scanning the room as he moved, alert and perceptive. The other noticeable feature of his exploration was that he was only looking forward, as if he were Lot and had been told not to look back under any circumstances.

Eventually, he stopped. With one fluid motion, he knocked back half of his drink. Then he set the half-full glass on a nearby table, wiped his hands on his shirt, and headed into the dancing mob.

Armie moved into the space Timmy had vacated, traced the edge of the abandoned glass with a finger as he followed Timmy’s movements with his eyes. He didn’t go after him, but remained on the edge of the crowd, waiting. After a moment, he lifted the glass to his mouth and drained it.

Timmy wove his way to the center of the floor just as a new song was beginning. Once there, he began to dance, hips winding in a complex pattern, hands fluttering, face upturned so that the strobes lit his features perfectly. As the vocals kicked in, he mouthed them perfectly, twisting his neck from side to side like a cobra, adding to the mesmerizing picture he made.

It didn’t take long for people to notice.

The DJ shook her head in amusement as a man approached. She could tell the kid was looking for some action — notwithstanding the guy standing to the side, watching him like a hawk — and it looked like he was about to get it. 

Timmy smiled at the man, beckoned him closer, and then turned around in clear invitation. The man sidled up behind Timmy, his hands on Timmy’s hips as they moved in time with each other and with the music. 

They spun in a circle so Timmy was once again facing Armie’s direction. He left his head back, not making eye contact, as he grabbed the man’s hands and pulled him closer, allowed him to fit his crotch to Timmy’s ass.

The song reached a crescendo, the melodies echoing over the steady beat. The man slid his hands up Timmy’s chest and buried his face in Timmy’s hair.

Armie slammed the shared drink, now empty, onto the table at his side. He turned and stalked to the nearest bar, motioned to a bartender. After slamming one whiskey and ordering a refill, he turned his attention to a woman perched on a stool to his left. 

It took one flash of his blindingly brilliant smile, the trailing of a finger down her exposed spine, and a heated whisper in her ear to persuade her to slide off of the stool and let Armie take her hand. 

**(04:54)**

He plowed back onto the dance floor, the woman trotting along behind him. He headed straight for where Timmy was still dancing, the stranger’s mouth now firmly latched onto his neck. At the last moment, Armie veered right, staking out a spot nearby. 

Timmy watched, eyes narrowing, as Armie spun around and yanked the woman toward him. She laughed and easily melted against him, winding her arms around his neck and sliding her leg between his. 

While Armie was not as confident of a dancer as Timmy, he could hold his own. He lowered his hands to rest on the woman’s back, just over her ass, and swayed their hips almost on beat. Once the rhythm was established, he glanced up, over the crowd, and back towards Timmy. 

Timmy caught his gaze and grinned, his eyes still hard. He licked his lips and tilted his head to the right, giving his partner better access to his neck. Then he placed his hands over his partner’s hands, squeezing and encouraging the man to play with his chest. The man took the cue, scraping his nails over Timmy’s nipples and then circling them with his fingers. 

Armie’s nostrils flared. 

He swiveled his partner around, moving them closer to Timmy’s spot. He let his hands move down to cup her ass, drawing her closer still, before nosing his way along her cheek to her ear. 

His eyes steadily fastened on Timmy, he caressed her ass, slid his fingers up and down her back, and then he gently took her earlobe between his teeth and tugged. 

Timmy frowned. 

Without warning, he spun around to face his partner. He guided the man’s hands down to his ass and pressed close, combing his fingers through the man’s close-cropped hair, petting it and using the pressure to encourage him to move even closer. They gyrated together, Timmy moving his crotch against his partner’s in a steady rhythm. 

Armie tensed.

Timmy tipped his head back and guided his partner’s mouth down again. The man licked the hollow of Timmy’s throat and began to kiss his way up its length, as if he were at a feast. He stopped at Timmy's pulse point and flicked his tongue against it in time with the rhythm.

Armie bit down hard on his partner’s ear, and she yelped. 

**(06:25)**

From her perch above the crowd, the DJ watched both pairs, and then switched to a slower song with a haunting melody and a steady, ponderous bass. What would they do with this new, slower — but no less intense — rhythm?

As the music changed, Armie licked over the spot he had marked on his partner’s earlobe, and she sighed into his cheek, shifting her hips against his. With a satisfied smile, he began to trace his fingers in a complicated pattern over her back, feeling her shiver against him and twist her fingers in the hair at his neck. 

She spoke in his ear. He shook his head slightly, holding her close and swaying back and forth. 

Timmy’s partner continued his assault on Timmy’s neck and then licked his way along Timmy’s jaw. Armie watched as Timmy’s mouth fell open when the man found that sensitive spot behind his ear. Timmy’s jaw clenched and released and his chest expanded and contracted as his breathing sped up. He had tensed from head to toe, and no longer appeared to be completely enjoying the attention, his hands fisting at his sides and his rhythm faltering.

Armie paused in his attentions to his own partner. Timmy opened his eyes and caught Armie’s gaze on him, hard and assessing. Then, it was as if he consciously threw off his discomfort panel by panel, his muscles loosening, his face relaxing into a grin, his eyes closing in apparent bliss. He leaned into his partner, his fingers dancing across the man’s arms and back, encouraging him further.

With a deep frown and a shake of his head, Armie pulled back from his partner, but she didn’t let go. Instead, she slid her hands around to his chest, stroking her palms up and down several times. She giggled, and her fingers deftly popped the top three buttons of his shirt before diving in to play in his chest hair.

Armie tried to still her hands, but she would not be distracted. He glanced back over at Timmy and caught a death glare. His frown turned to a smug smile, and he stopped discouraging her, instead flipping open the fourth button himself.

The strobes slowed, with longer pauses between flashes, so that the pair was lit brightly in a series of moments.

Flash. Armie’s partner leaned in and licked his sternum.

Flash. Timmy palmed his partner’s ass.

Flash. Armie tilted his partner’s head to the side and sucked on her neck.

Flash. Timmy glared daggers at Armie.

Flash. Timmy took his partner’s face in his hands. 

Flash. Timmy rose up on his toes to press their lips together. 

Flash. The guy got with the program instantly, wrapping his arms around Timmy’s back and surging forward. Timmy’s jaw opened under the assault.

Flash. Armie shoved his partner away from him. He ignored her protests and charged off of the dance floor, a murderous look in his eyes. 

When the strobes returned to their previous steady rhythm, both partners found themselves alone on the dance floor.

**(8:02)**

The bartender watched from a safe distance.

By the time Timmy had extracted himself from his tongue-wrestling match and wound through the crowd, Armie was perched on a bar stool, his back to the dance floor, his shoulders hunched up around his ears. He had knocked back two whiskeys and was working on a third.

Timmy stood behind Armie and to his left. He hesitated for only a moment before he laid a hand on Armie’s shoulder and tugged. Armie’s only acknowledgement that he felt the pressure was when he hunched down further, staring straight ahead. Timmy tightened his grip on Armie’s shoulder, leaned in, and said something in Armie’s ear.

When there was no additional response, Timmy practically shoved a guy off of the stool next to Armie. The guy swore at him, but Timmy flashed him the finger and then hopped up in his place. He motioned for the bartender to bring him two of what Armie was drinking.

He waited for the drinks, and when they arrived, he slid one in front of Armie. Armie ignored it, staring down at his own now-empty glass. Timmy shrugged and tipped his back, draining it.

Slowly, he settled his fingers in Armie’s hair and dragged them down his neck, then back up again. He repeated the motion several times, watching Armie intently. Armie’s neck stretched slightly at the touch, but then he seemed to steel himself once more. Timmy let out a sigh.

He scooted his stool as close as possible, faced Armie, and then worked his right leg across Armie’s lap. He wound his left leg around Armie’s back, hooking them together, and then he leaned in, resting his chin on Armie’s shoulder. Armie knocked his left foot down and then slid off of the stool to the left, away from Timmy. 

Timmy stared after him, waiting to see what he would do. He moved to the other end of the bar and leaned against the corner of the counter, his back to Timmy.

His face sliding back into a stony glare, Timmy hopped down from the stool. He once again reminded the bartender of a cat as he slunk towards Armie. And the bartender realized he had been wrong before. Armie was the prey, and Timmy was the predator. Not the other way around. 

Timmy stood directly in front of Armie and, as the DJ shifted into a high-paced song with a sinuous melody, he began to dance. 

The singer crooned about love and obsession and desire over a rhythm that made your heart try to beat a little faster to keep up. It was a breathless song, meant to make you feel on edge, ready to fly. Timmy took full advantage of every element of it.

His hips created a figure eight, each point punctuating a beat of the song, moving faster and faster. His hands spun and waved, his shoulders shimmied, his head shook. With each progressively intense beat, his gaze darkened, focused more.

He was putting on quite a show, enough that a number of people stopped to watch his lean body writhe and curve and shake. 

But Armie kept his chin tipped down, his eyes on his shoes. His hands were fisted in his pockets and his muscles were rigid. The only evidence that he was affected at all by the performance in front of him was the way his jaw clenched and unclenched in a pulse of...frustration? Anger? Need?

Eventually, Tim stepped closer. And then closer again, until he could duck into the path of Armie’s gaze. He licked his lips, formed two simple words, and reached out a hand. Slowly.

…

…

...

Armie caught it by the wrist just before it landed on his crotch. He growled. 

**(10:20)**

The bartender moved closer, his hand resting on the house phone in case he needed to call a bouncer. 

Armie yanked Timmy around so Timmy’s back was flush against Armie’s front. Timmy struggled, but Armie crushed his arms across his chest, effectively trapping the smaller man with his superior strength. 

He tipped his head down so he could speak directly into Timmy’s ear. Timmy nodded, turned his head. He didn’t looked worried. His eyes were wide and his lower lip glistened from where he had been biting it, but his stance and his expression were those of excitement. He repeated the two words he had said earlier. 

_Fuck. You._

Armie laughed, a laugh that was equal parts amusement and bitterness. He released Timmy suddenly, and Timmy stumbled forward.

He didn’t get far, however, because Armie still had a viselike grip on one of his wrists. With no further preamble, Armie was on the move, towing Timmy across the room towards the front of the club. 

Timmy staggered after him, half running to keep up with Armie’s long strides. They dodged around people dancing, waitstaff with trays, and those who had had too much to drink, treating the other people in the space as mere live obstacles. 

They moved quickly, seeming to pick up speed as they went, not letting the heavy double doors at the club entrance slow them down. 

The cashier had just enough time to think _there’s that gorgeous — oh, and that other one_ as Armie dragged Timmy out the front door and into the street. 

**(11:06)**

Armie practically kicked the door to his hotel room open before the lock had slid free. The door swung into the space, thudding against the doorstop. He whirled around, grabbed the front of Timmy’s t-shirt in his fist and backed into the room. 

He slammed the door closed and then plowed forward, pushing Timmy up against the door. 

He crushed his mouth against Timmy’s, not giving him time to adjust before he was pushing inside with his tongue. Timmy opened to him easily, his head knocking back against the door, drawing a grunt of pain. 

Armie pulled back an inch, snaked a hand up to cradle the back of Timmy’s head, buried his fingers in soft curls. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, through clenched teeth. 

“It’s fine, I’m fine, just—“

Timmy tugged him close again, whimpering into Armie’s mouth as their jaws clacked together. His tongue was so far down the back of Armie’s throat he thought he might be able to feel his uvula. It wasn’t really a kiss. It was a reminder, a claiming, on both parts. They tangled together, evenly matched, and evenly victorious.

Armie surged up against him, grinding their hips together. They both moaned, and Armie broke away. His eyes roamed wildly over Timmy’s face and neck, pupils blown.

“You fucking asshole,” he said. “I swear to god, Timmy—”

“Look who’s talking,” Timmy said. He leaned in for another kiss, but Armie stepped back, avoiding it. He kept a hand on Timmy’s collarbone, pressing him up against the door. His other hand roamed over Timmy’s jaw, down his neck. His fingers stilled at the junction of Timmy’s shoulder.

“I fucking knew it,” Armie said, teeth clenched. “You let him _mark_ you.”

He pressed down on the bruise with his thumb, and Timmy gasped at the sharp sting.

“So what?” Timmy asked. “You don’t own me.”

“I don’t?” Armie’s eyes glittered. “So we decided that we could just...fuck anyone we wanted and it’s no big deal? I missed that conversation.”

“I didn’t _fuck_ anyone. And anyway, when you screw up as bad as you did, all bets are off,” Timmy spat out.

“I didn’t—”

“You _did._ ”

“I don’t accept that,” Armie said. “But I can fix _this._ ” He leaned into Timmy’s neck, set his teeth in the tendon, clamped down directly over the mark, and began to suck.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” chanted Timmy. He smacked a hand on the back of Armie’s head and pressed down, urging him on. 

**(12:34)**

When Armie let go, Timmy moaned, grabbed him by the hair, and yanked until their lips were back together. He moved one hand between them, sliding down Armie’s chest and stomach until he could get hold of Armie’s stiff cock. He stroked a palm over it, and Armie thrust up toward him.

Then Armie pulled away again. “We aren’t done,” he said.

“We aren’t?” Tim was breathless by now, and it wasn’t helping him find oxygen with Armie crowding him against the door.

Armie tapped his index finger on Timmy’s lower lip. “You _kissed_ him.”

“ _He_ kissed _me,_ ” Timmy corrected, but Armie sank his teeth into Timmy’s lip until he cried out. Then he released it, soothing it with his tongue.

“Are you sure about that?” Armie asked.

“Okay, I—”

“You fucking kissed him. No one kisses you but me.” As if to prove it, Armie dove in again, and then pulled away. Timmy tried to follow, and whimpered when all he caught was air.

Then Armie was gone, moving across the room, leaving Timmy trembling against the door. He gulped in a few breaths, got himself together, and then followed.

“Hey, you weren’t innocent yourself,” Timmy said. He reached Armie and grabbed his elbow, tugging until he spun around. “You were trying to piss me off with that woman.”

“You started it. With the bartender, and then—”

“Fuck you.” Timmy pushed Armie backward.

“Fuck you too,” Armie said.

Timmy grinned. “Yeah, get on with it already.” He gave Armie one final shove, sending him sprawling backwards onto the bed. “Or I will.”

He crawled up Armie’s body, sliding his chest over his crotch and smirking at how hard his cock had gotten. When he was straddling Armie’s stomach, he leaned down for another kiss and then found himself flipped over onto his back, Armie’s hand on his chest.

“Is that what you want?” Armie asked. 

In answer, Timmy reached up and grabbed Armie’s shirt and tugged. It popped open. Buttons didn’t fly, but it did make a satisfying tearing sound, and Timmy found himself holding onto a flap of material.

Armie’s eyes flashed. He tore his shirt off, and then slid his hands under the hem of Timmy’s shirt and yanked it up and over Timmy’s head, not waiting for him to help. He flung it across the room. They made quick work of their pants, and then Timmy was on his stomach, lying diagonally across the bed.

He reached back and spread his cheeks, canting his hips upward. “Hurry,” he said.

“Fucking hell,” Armie muttered, moving away from the bed for a moment and then returning. He popped the cap on the lube and drizzled it between Timmy’s hands. When he slid the first finger inside, Timmy grunted.

“More,” he said.

Armie gave him more, until he was gasping and shunting his hips back and forth, trying to shove Armie’s fingers deeper. When he was begging, Armie slicked lube over his cock and lined himself up.

**(14:05)**

“Come on,” Timmy whined. “Do it already, Jesus Chr —” He cut off with a long moan as Armie pressed inside.

He didn’t wait this time, merely slid in with one slow, steady motion. Once fully seated, he smoothed a hand over Timmy’s hair. He wound his fingers into the curls and tugged. Timmy gasped and thrust his hips backward.

Armie began to move. He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, and when Timmy made sounds of approval, he did it a second time, and then a third, until he had set a brutal pace. The only sounds in the room now were the slapping of their skin and their echoing moans.

After a few minutes, Armie reached around and wrapped his hand around Timmy’s cock, stroking it until Timmy began to make half-sobbing sounds, his voice muffled from where his face was buried in the bedsheets. He felt Timmy tense beneath him and removed his hand, smacking Tim’s ass sharply to pull him back from the edge. 

“Fuuuuuckkkk,” Timmy managed. “Armie, please—”

“Not yet,” Armie said.

He slowed the pace, made his strokes more shallow, barely withdrawing before pushing back in. Timmy writhed underneath him, growing more and more desperate.

Finally, he pulled out entirely and flipped Timmy onto his back. Timmy immediately reached for Armie’s shoulders, his fingers pressing into slick flesh as he drew Armie down on top of him. Armie let Tim take his mouth as he lined up and pushed inside once more.

Then it was all hands and teeth and tongue, gripping and biting and tasting, as they rode the wave higher and higher. Timmy pulled at Armie’s hips, driving him deeper. Armie shoved Timmy’s knees higher, opening the way. Timmy latched onto Armie’s jaw with his teeth until Armie cursed and pulled him off, fingers twisted in his hair. 

And all the while they rocked in harmony, both uttering pleas as they shuddered in each other’s arms, barely holding themselves, and each other, together.

Armie reached between them to get his hand around Timmy again. Timmy made a sound like he was choking when Armie used a rough stroke, twisting and squeezing at the tip. Then he froze, his muscles going rigid, his ass clamping tightly around Armie cock, and his eyes glazed over as he shot stream after stream of come up their chests. With one last thrust, Armie followed with a string of curses in Timmy’s ear.

**(Silence)**

For a time, the only sound was breathing.

Eventually, Armie rolled off of Timmy onto his back. Tim rolled with him, curling into his side. Armie smiled.

“You still pissed at me?” he asked.

“At the moment? No,” Timmy murmured. “But I reserve the right to get re-mad again later when I am not high on fucking.”

“Is there an expiration date on that? Or do I have to keep fucking you to help you forget you were mad?” Armie nuzzled into Timmy’s hair, kissed the top of his head.

“Better keep doing it, to be safe,” Timmy said. He paused. “What about you? You still mad at me?”

“No. I deserved it.”

“Yeah, you did.” Timmy stroked his hand along Armie’s bicep and hummed. “We’ll need to talk about it.”

“Now?”

Timmy sat up and tugged at the blankets until they were both snuggled under them instead of sprawling on top.

“No, not now,” he said. “Now, I want to sleep. And then I want to wake up and do that again, and then you can take me to breakfast. And _then_ we’ll talk.”

Armie was quiet for a moment. He sighed. “So you’re not going to leave me?”

“Nope, you’re safe. What about you? Deciding I’m too much trouble?” Timmy’s voice was light, but there was a hint of genuine worry hiding beneath the jest.

“Not possible,” Armie said. “And, for what it’s worth, I am sorry. About tonight, and about last week.”

“I know,” Timmy said. “Me too.”

Armie reached an arm out and shut off the light. He pulled Timmy closer, and Timmy burrowed into him with a happy sigh. They drifted off to sleep, the patter of the rain on the window subsiding as the storm died away.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm onlyastoryteller on Tumblr if you need to yell at me.


End file.
